


In Which Bradley Thinks Octo-Morgan Is A Great Nickname

by Val_Creative



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Explicit Language, Ficlet, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The window blinds aren't enough to keep slivers of morning light from his face. Bradley lets out a grunting snort and buries himself deeper in his mattress. He's accepted that, god knows, the entire universe is out to thwart him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Bradley Thinks Octo-Morgan Is A Great Nickname

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marlena_darling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlena_darling/gifts).



*

 

The window blinds aren't enough to keep slivers of morning light from his face.

Bradley lets out a grunting snort and buries himself deeper in his mattress. He's accepted that, god knows, the entire universe is out to thwart him, friends and fans; and yes, it's true, a massive hangover has him by the bollocks. Possibly why he's in no mood for anything. Except maybe the warm, sleepy length of his favorite bed-mate rustling the covers beside him.

Well, _only_ bed-mate, he considered. Eoin didn't count. It was one time, they were both fairly tanked and generally excitable, and he was a blasted git snoring right in Bradley's ear for half of the night. There's no snoring this time in his grumpy, throbby-skull world swallowed up in plush hotel blankets.

Just little, breathy exhales, as Colin's forehead presses softly to his clavicle, dark and tufted hair smelling like Redken hair matte.

 

He's far too _lovely_ a vision for not having showered yesterday.

Bradley doesn't mind the close proximity, or Colin's naked hipbone digging to his side, or even the smell of what had been a bloody fantastic shag in the early morning hours clinging still to the room. If Bradley could get the fucking-damn sun to turn the fuck off, he'd be quite content, honestly. Grumpiness aside.

But the universe has other plans, specifically ones that took joy in piercing Bradley's tired skull with even more needle-sharp pain as the hotel door beyond the bedroom suite is thumped on loudly. "Tell them no," comes a groggy, half-formed mumble against Bradley's chest.

Colin's leg nudges up to sandwich his thighs. A hand drags lazy and possessive across Bradley's waist in front of him, his arm resting there. Right, like Bradley could very well get up now with Octo-Morgan.

Heh heh.

‘Octo-Morgan.’

 

Not a bad one, James.

 

Update: He still can’t move.

 

"If it's Katie," fuck all, it hurts to hear himself talk, "she'll break the lock."

"Then if it's not Katie, they can bugger off," comes a loud mutter into Bradley's chest hair. Bradley would laugh aloud, but his throat feels scraped raw, as does the inside of his head. So he just swallows down the persistent urge to bring up the greasy chips from the night prior and moans dramatically, getting muffled in a pillow.

Colin's fingers trace lazy, warm designs on his lower back, down to Bradley's bare hip. "Go back to sleep," he shushes, coaxing.

" _Cols_ ," Bradley moans again, weakly. He would flop an arm just as dramatically form emphasis but just moving anything hurts almost as much as forming words. It's really fucking unfair that the universe hates him this much for inventing hangovers.

"I'll get you some water later, alright?"

 

No more thumping occurs but he feels Colin reach over to the table-stand for his mobile. Probably to switch it off.

His Octo-Morgan is the best, hands down.

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an unfinished askbox fic for Marlena. Still for Marlena. Always for Marlena and the boys.


End file.
